


when she hits her mark

by savi0urdr3amer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (sort of lmao), Alternate Universe - College/University, Deepthroating, Exhibitionism, F/F, Finger Sucking, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, dom!widowmaker, door sex, sub!Tracer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savi0urdr3amer/pseuds/savi0urdr3amer
Summary: Lena Oxton has never been good at hitting on girls. Especially on ones that leave their blinds open while they’re changing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in widowtracer hell and i admittedly had way too much fun writing this lmao  
> idk how things even work in the UK so if i botched that part i'm gomen, i'm a shitty american ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> shoutout to me for having the dream that inspired this sin, i hope it's good. as always i am trash but pls enjoy widowtracer sin, i love them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It starts off as an accident.

Lena’s fidgeting through the drawers in her room, looking for a water bottle stashed in a bag that she hasn’t bothered to unpack yet, when a ray of sunlight breaks through her open blinds. Distracted, she looks over, her eyelids still heavy from sleep, when she sees her through the window of the flat across from hers. She’s tall, slender, and elegant, pulling up her hair in ponytail as she walks towards her vanity to grab a hair tie. Her hair is long and dark and looks like silk, and her cheekbones are high and prominent, her lips puckered into a pout that looks more cute than it does sleep-deprived.  _God,_ she’s beautiful.

Lena, a bit embarrassed, tells herself that she should stop looking at this girl, this stranger. She probably didn’t know she had her blinds open, anyways.

But whether she knew or not doesn’t stop Lena from thinking of her for the entirety of her morning jog.

-

Lena would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t do the same thing the next few mornings- she’s gotten into the routine of waking up early to go for a run for years, yes, but she knows damn well that the surge of energy she feels is because of something else entirely. She gazes through her open blinds and a twinge of excitement hits her when she sees her again- putting up her hair, a regular morning habit, it seems, and after tightening her ponytail she walks over to her vanity to pick up a water bottle. That’s when it hits her that she’s going for a run, too. She goes early in the morning, just like Lena does, before it gets too hot outside.

She wears a pair of skimpy shorts hardly long enough to qualify as shorts in the first place and a cutoff tank top that showcases an unmistakably purple sports bra. Lena can see her toned muscles even from her room, and she catches herself wondering what kind of abs she has underneath that loose white shirt.

She hardly resists the urge to think about peeling it off of her, and she only manages to tune out those thoughts as she turns the volume up on her phone and pops in her earbuds, shutting the door behind her. She’ll have to make her workout extra brutal today to distract herself.

-

The rest of Lena’s hall fills up over the next few days as the rest of the students on her floor move into their flats. She’s been here for almost a week now (and has finally finished unpacking her bags, thank _God_ ), and she thanks the fact that she got to move in early for just being on the track team as she watches two people try to lug a futon up the stairway (and unsuccessfully).

Classes haven’t officially started yet, and neither has track practice, but that day Lena has the realization that _she’s_ been moved in just as long as she has, if not longer- her heart skips a beat at the thought of the two of them being on the team together. She tells herself not to get her hopes up, but the fact that she goes for early jogs every morning is a good sign.

Lena takes a different route the next morning in hopes of seeing her. To her own amazement, she passes her once. They make eye contact and it’s fleeting, but she spark she senses is unmistakable. She cranes her head back and watches her before she disappears, and Lena spends so much time looking at her ass she nearly runs into a pole.

All in all, it could’ve been a worse start to her morning.

-

After doing some prodding, Lena finds out that her name is Amélie, and that she’s from France. She feels chills go down her spine just imagining what her accent sounds like. She’s apparently spectacular at shotput and high jump, neither of which surprise Lena in the slightest.

They exchange glances now every day before they head out to run- keeping their blinds open for each other has become a sort of unsaid vow that they hold each other to. Amélie’s eyes are like a lynx’s, narrowed and clever and full of something passionate and unbridled, clear and golden. They remind Lena of the sun.

As Amélie struts off towards the door that morning Lena swears she sees her wink at her. The way she sways her hips when she walks makes Lena finish off her water bottle before she’s even started running.

-

Lena’s run the next day is particularly brutal. It’s overwhelmingly hot, humid, and sticky outside, and by the time she’s back from her run she feels even more disgusting than she does exhausted, her heart pounding hard in her ribcage, blood pumping. She fetches a towel and some clean clothes from her drawer and wipes the sweat from her forehead, her brows furrowing. As she shuts the drawer her eyes instinctively dart to her window, curious if Amélie’s back from her run as well.

And she is. And Lena’s jaw nearly hits the floor.

She has her back turned to Lena, and is pulling her hair out of her ponytail; it falls down her back in long, dark waves, and after she weaves her fingers through it, pulling out the tangles, she beings peeling off her shorts, and it’s like she’s doing a dance. The sway of her hips is nothing short of provocative, and it occurs to Lena that she’s wearing a _thong_ , black and lacey and absolutely far from what someone should wear when they go running but that’s _far_ from what the issue is right now-

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

She turns to Lena and _winks_ , her fingers sliding up her waist to her bra (good _God_ , her abs are even nicer than Lena imagined), and just as she begins pulling it off she disappears from view.

Lena wonders if anyone else was watching, too, but a little part of her thinks that maybe, just maybe, that charade was intended only for her.

Immediately afterwards Lena closes her blinds, plops on her bed, and tends to the arousal swelling up between her legs.

The shower can wait.

-

She’s too nervous to take the route that’ll pass Amélie the next day. It’s silly, she knows, but after what happened yesterday Lena knows she won’t be able to hide the blush on her face- and she worries even more about what sort of anxious, flustered nonsense she’d spill out in front of her. So she takes a different route for her own good, and in the completely opposite direction, but she still can’t help feeling paranoid the whole time- she catches herself looking back every whenever she can, then around, then in front of her. God, she doesn’t want to make this awkward, even if she never has the chance of being with someone as ethereal and gorgeous as Amélie.

She deliberately makes sure that her run takes longer than usual to buy herself some time, anxious that she might run into Amélie on her way back up to her floor. She figures an extra twenty minutes will suffice, and while there’s a cluster of people heading in the main door of her building, none of them are Amélie. So far, so good. She takes a breath of relief and realizes that she’s a bit lightheaded- she huffs as she heads up the stairs, her legs weak and wobbly. Maybe that extra twenty minutes wasn’t as good of an idea as she thought it was.

She slides her student ID into the card reader on her floor and opens the door to her hall after it clicks. Still panting, she wipes her forehead with her arm and walks down the empty hall, propping the door handle down with her elbow when she gets to her room. It’s too early to bother locking her door, anyways.

She’s half a foot into her flat when she freezes. Ordinarily the air conditioning is more than enough to cool her off, but Lena’s body is hot, hotter than it’s ever been.

There’s a hand coiled around her wrist.

Immediately fearing the worst, Lena turns around, preparing to defend herself, but the first thing she sees is a familiar, brooding pair of eyes, bright and like gems and oh my _God,_ it’s Amélie and she’s right _there_ in front of her, and she pushes the two of them into Lena’s room with a strength that Lena doesn’t have right now- all she does is take a few steps back, fatigued, and in a blink Amélie’s gained the upper hand and has her pinned face-first against the door.

The first thing Lena does is gasp at the impact. She’s already out of breath, and having the girl she’s had more than just a simple crush on for weeks pin her against a door does everything but help that.

Amélie yanks out Lena's earbuds and tosses her phone onto the floor behind her.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” Her voice is like velvet, laced with a brutal edge that feels far more like a stab than it does a paper cut. “That I couldn’t see you lusting after me every morning?”

Both embarrassment and arousal strike Lena simultaneously, dissolving any initial fear that she may have felt, and they merge into a pit of heat in her belly that makes her ache between her legs. Amélie’s groping her hard, not even bothering to peel off her shirt or her sports bra, but that doesn’t stop Lena from tingling all over; her skin turns to nothing but goosebumps and chills when Amélie’s teeth graze the shell of her ear, and she can feel her self-control slipping away from her like water through her hands. Christ, this girl barely has to _touch_ her to have her reduced to a needy, gasping mess. The realization makes her shudder and embarrassingly wet between her legs.

“Your eyes have been glued to me every morning for the past week, chérie. You aren’t very good at keeping secrets, are you?”

Lena wants to laugh at herself, but the sound she makes instead is more like something between a gasp and a whine, a pitiful, choked sound that makes desperation rise up from her core to her throat. A wave of shocks jolt straight up her spine as Amélie presses her against the door harder, so hard it almost hurts- she can feel the ridges digging into the side of her cheek and she finds herself barely resisting the urge to grind up against it for friction.

“I asked you a question.” Amélie hisses after a few seconds of silence, and Lena gasps audibly at the hand suddenly in her hair, pulling her head back without even a sliver of gentleness or remorse. “Lena, yes? Look at me.”

Another whine settles in Lena’s throat, a pathetic, low plea. Obeying, she gazes at Amélie through her peripherals as a line of sweat falls from her temple to her jawline.

“What secrets?” Lena manages, fully aware she knows damn well what Amélie means, and that she’s becoming too aroused to give a single damn anymore. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“ _Lies_.” The Frenchwoman murmurs, her voice dropping to an octave that makes Lena want to give in right then and there and beg to Amélie to fuck her until she screams. She feels her hand graze over her hip, tracing the band of her shorts, and even the slightest touch has her bucking her hips into a frenzy she can’t bring herself to stop. “You touched yourself yesterday, didn’t you?”

Lena’s clit pulses with need and she can feel her thighs quivering. She squeezes her legs together to ease the burn between her legs, but Amélie’s teasing has only made her crave her touch more.

“You slid your hand between your legs and fucked yourself until you shook like a whore,” Amélie continues, so close that Lena can feel her breath against her ear, hot against the back of her neck. “You’re a wanton girl, Lena. Is this what you’ve wanted?”

Amélie’s hand slips beneath her panties and Lena doesn’t even try to be quiet anymore.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ -” Lena moans unabashedly as Amélie strokes her clit in slow, deliberate circles, fully intent on dragging out the sensation until Lena’s squirming.

“ _Ferme_.” Lena barely registers the feeling of Amélie’s fingers prodding at her lips, completely distracted by the smoothness of her voice and the hand circling her clit. Nonetheless, Lena opens her mouth and gladly accepts her fingers; they're long and slender and sweet with a taste she can’t quite identify. “Suck on them.”

Amélie’s fingers press down on Lena’s tongue, sliding deeper into her mouth until she takes them to the knuckle, and the motion she makes mimics exactly what Lena wants her to do in an entirely different place.

“ _Please_ ,” Lena gasps after a particularly hard thrust, her voice muffled by Amélie’s fingers pumping in and out of her mouth, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Her clit throbs with need and she grinds hastily against Amélie’s fingers, wanting nothing more than to be fucked senseless by her.

Amélie’s fingers drift lower, where she’s dripping and quivering, and she coats them with Lena’s wetness before dragging them up to her clit again, her motions more sporadic and rough, just how Lena pictured her touch would be in her fantasies, and that thought alone makes her even wetter.

“Please _what?_ ” Amélie’s index finger toys at her entrance and then strokes long, excruciating lines up and down the hood of her clit. The smugness in her words makes Lena shiver against the door.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Lena groans, voice cracking, “I need you to _fuck_ _me, please-”_

Lena’s words are cut off by her own gasp as Amélie’s fingers delve inside of her, two rather than one, and Lena’s arousal nullifies the sting almost immediately. There is no gentleness in her touch, and Lena both moans and gags as Amélie’s pace quickens inside of her, one set of fingers reaching the back of her throat and the other curling inside of her until she sees white. Her hips buck helplessly into Amélie’s hand, her palm grazing her clit, and Lena nearly sobs out a chain of pleas that are only broken by her own whispers of _yes, yes, yes, Amélie_. She can feel her own walls clenching around Amélie’s fingers as she pounds wave after wave of pleasure into her, fucking her so hard it would hurt if she wasn’t so turned on, if she didn’t want it so fucking badly, and she knows she’ll be getting off to this for weeks.

She’s so deliciously sensitive from the arousal and the mewls and whimpers that she makes with every pump of Amélie’s fingers hardly register as her own, but Amélie was right, so right, because this _is_ what she’s wanted, and she has no qualms admitting it to herself- each gasp of _yes_ only makes her clench harder around Amélie’s fingers, her cunt dripping and aching for more.

"Tu veux que je te baise plus fort, hein?” Lena may have taken two years of French and bullshitted her way through exams like it was her job, but if she knew anything it was that baise meant _fuck_ , and that alone has her panting affirmation after affirmation, eager to see what else Amélie can do to her, how she’ll have her shaking and panting, begging for more like a bitch in heat.

Another few thrusts have Lena squirming, half against the door and half against Amélie’s body, so close to her own she can feel her warmth, her hurried breaths, filled with an anticipation that even she can’t conceal, and Lena finds herself wondering if Amélie crumbles as ungracefully as she does, or if even her moans sound like clockwork and hymns, melodic and controlled and likely unbelievably _sexy_. As Amélie curls her fingers and presses against the sensitive flesh at the front of her walls Lena decides that she wants to be buried between those legs, so toned and lean and fucking _hot,_ and find out, not stopping until Amélie’s body quakes at each flick of her tongue.

She’s close now, so close her body stiffens, so close she can feel the pleasure shooting through her nerves like a drug, and her walls tighten wetly around Amélie’s fingers. It takes a few seconds for Lena to realize that she’s still begging Amélie, unsure if she’d ever stopped in the first place, her voice breathless and eager, strained and borderline unintelligible as Amélie’s fingers continue fucking her mouth almost as hard as she’s fucking her pussy. _Let me come, let me come, let me-_

“ _Come._ ” Is Amélie’s only command, and it’s one that Lena’s never been happier to hear in her fucking life. A burst of pleasure shoots through her body and she spasms wildly, every nerve in her body on fire and _exploding_ , and she’s so loud Amélie has to cover her mouth to muffle her scream, her damp fingers slick and sticky and hot with her own saliva. She rides out the aftershocks with heavy gasps, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head, as Amélie’s pace slows to gentle, soothing strokes.

“Good girl.” Amélie tells her softly, removing her fingers; the sound Lena’s cunt makes at the removal is nothing short of embarrassing, a wet, slick sound, and she can feel the wetness beginning to trail down the inner apex of her thighs. _Holy shit_ , she doesn’t thinks she’s come that hard in her life.

“You know which room I live in, oui?” Before Lena can even think about turning around Amélie’s already going for the door handle with the same hand that just fucked her into oblivion, and a surge of anxiety settles in Lena’s stomach.

“But-”

“Come there tonight, chérie. We’ll continue our fun then, yes?” She’s already walking away from her, her long, dark ponytail bobbing with her steps, and she turns her head briefly to flash Lena a grin. Her eyes are golden and remind Lena of ambers. “I think your RA is coming into the hall in a few minutes. If I were you, chérie, I’d try to look like I wasn’t just fucked against a door, hm?”

She walks off without another word and Lena, cheeks flushed with an equal amount of arousal and shame, made sure to close her blinds before heading over to Amélie’s later that night.


End file.
